


I Don't Mind

by spacemonkey766



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Barry Allen Needs a Hug, Episode Tag, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Iris West Loves Barry Allen, References to Depression, Spoilers for Crisis on Infinite Earths Crossover Event (CW DC TV Universe), The Flash (TV 2014) Season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29134476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey766/pseuds/spacemonkey766
Summary: "I will love you anyway with all your demons in the way. Nothing can keep us apart. I walk through walls into your heart, I don't mind."Barry Allen had seen more darkness than most people would in a lifetime, and with each wave that threatens to drown him, each fire that threatens to burn him, and each broken heart, Iris West has been there to help him through with nothing more than her love and understanding. He struggled, and she didn't mind being there. By his side was where she belonged.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Iris West
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics and title are from the beautiful song “I Don’t Mind” by Joseph

"I see you getting sad  
I see it running through your blood  
Let it run like water out of mud  
You think you're crazy"

_______________

Iris ran through the halls of STAR Labs, heels clicking on the floor as she exited the elevator. She flew past the Cortex, not even sparing it a glance despite the voices she heard. She paused in the hall for just a moment, bracing a hand against the wall right at the entrance to the Time Vault. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, swallowing down her panic, and pondered on where Barry would go to process this kind of pain. 

In the early days when Barry was grieving, when his depression would take hold, he’d hide in his closet. There were days Iris would sit outside the closed closet door, back against the wall, and just sit waiting for Barry to emerge. Some days she would join him inside the closet and sit beside him as he cried. When they were a little older, he’d climb out his window and sit on the roof or sit on the top step of the porch of the West home. As their world expanded with college and jobs, so did the places he would seek solace; the rooftop of Jitters, a very specific tree in Central City Park that sat away from the rest of the small grove, various nooks of S.T.A.R. Labs. It depended on what and how he was feeling, what he needed; if he needed to see the horizon like on the rooftop or in the park or if he needed to shut down and out away from everything like the closet or the Time Vault. 

She had gotten a call from her father about a half-hour ago. He and Barry had been at Jitters before heading back to CCPD after meeting with David Singh in his new office as Chief of Police. The new barista had called out to them when the drinks were done, handing Barry an XS-presso before quickly realizing it was wrong and took it from his hands. Her father said he’d gotten one look at Barry, could feel his heart drop into his stomach when he saw Barry pale, hands suddenly shaking, before quickly leaving the coffee shop.

Iris pushed away from the wall and took up her rapid pace again, wishing that she still had super speed and her purple lightning so she could get to her husband all that sooner. She ran towards the Speed Lab. Barry would want to isolate himself but still feel connected to their daughter. She slowed her pace as she entered the training room, scanning the space before spotting the figure hunched in the alcove at the top of the ramp, sitting with drawn knees, face buried behind the folded arms.

She should have an honorary Masters in the study of Barry Allen. She always knew where to find him, always knew where his heart led him. Sure there had been times in her life where she’d have lost money if she’d bet on certain things like not realizing he’d been in love with her their whole lives, not realizing she’d been in love with him their whole lives too, his terrible lies covering up the fact that he was the Flash. And even though those were big things, in a life long study of Barry Allen, that wasn’t a bad batting record. She just hoped that the expertise that brought her to finding him instantly extended to being able to reach through his pain and find him amongst that noise in his head. 

She approached the bottom of the ramp slowly, pausing for a moment in thought before she stepped out of her heels and began her ascent up the ramp. It was a fairly steep incline, not designed for non-speedsters, but she had fair core strength and if she could dive headfirst off a building to save her husband she could climb up a ramp in a body-con dress, shoeless and occasionally using her hands to help, to sit next to him. The fact that he hadn’t lifted his head yet told her he was trying to compose himself, for her sake or his own she couldn’t be sure. But she finally reached the top, sitting beside him with her legs folded beneath her to one side, leaning into him. 

He was dressed in sweatpants and a S.T.A.R. Labs tee, although she couldn’t see the logo due to his posture, she recognized the running uniform almost as easily as his red suit. She was close enough that she could hear the hitches in his breath amongst heavy breathing, telling her he had only just stopped running shortly before she arrived and was trying to breathe through the exertion and crying simultaneously. And her heart ached for him. She reached one hand up to rest on the forearm closest to her, wishing she could touch his hand but they were tucked beneath his arms, a clear indication to her that he wasn’t really looking to be comforted. But her thumb caressed the bare arm anyway, lightly damp with perspiration, her quiet way of telling him she was here when he was ready.

It would take about twenty minutes before he would raise his head, resting his chin on his forearm next to where her hand still lay, eyes closed but she could see the red rimming the bottom lids, the dried tracks down his cheeks, the clenched jaw, and a fine sheen of sweat on his brow from his running. She wanted nothing more than to wrap him in her arms right there and never let him go, shelter him forever and let their hearts beat in tandem but she knew it wasn’t what he needed or even wanted right now. But sitting beside him as he felt the waves crash down on him, it was hard for Iris to bear. She’d experienced grief, had cried her heart out before, didn’t know a single soul in her life who hadn’t experienced loss or pain. But there was something about the way Barry carried it. He felt so much more than anyone she knew, loved deeper than she thought possible, and experienced more pain than was fair for any one person. 

“She’s gone,” he whispered finally. “Taken from us, from me. Just like him. Just like her.” 

His voice was barely more than a breath of a whisper, the weight and tone lost in his despair. So much like when they stood in the pipeline and he realized that it didn’t bother her that Nora had been working with Thawne, that if he had killed her mother in front of him she’d maybe feel differently. 

It hadn’t bothered her. Because it was Nora. Barry was right when he accused her of being blinded by her emotions, that if it had been anyone else she would have believed it to be dangerous. It should have bothered her, she knew Thawne was dangerous, had seen the ways he’d tortured Barry, she just never imagined he’d be capable of this. 

Although she didn’t agree with Barry's actions on taking her back, she couldn’t deny or diminish his right to feel betrayed by their daughter. And he had been right. Thawne had manipulated her, manipulated them all, to get what he wanted, and sacrificed their daughter in the process. 

“It’s my fault,” he breathed again. Iris couldn’t stay silent to that.

“No, Barry,” she squeezed the arm beneath her, her voice shaking in anger. Not at him, not at Nora, not even at Thawne. Anger in the idea of Barry being to blame even manifesting in his heart. 

“It is. All of them,” he said and she watched as his lips quivered, eyes clenched tighter even though they had yet to open since she got here, fresh tears somehow escaping. “He killed my mom because of me. Zoom killed my dad because of me. And Nora...”

He didn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t, as the wave crashed and the sob drowned his words. He went under, head retreating to the darkness and safety of the folded arms. Iris couldn’t stop her own tears. 

They’d had this conversation before. When they lost her, Iris was the one who had crumbled while Barry held her together. For weeks, he was a pillar of strength as Iris let herself fall apart. He’d brought her tea when she couldn’t get off the couch, held her when her body shook with tears, listened as she bared her heart. He had cried with her, talked with her, and she had caught him when he’d allowed himself small moments of grief, but she had yet to see him break down. 

She knew how deeply Barry felt grief, how responsible he felt for every loss, how his emotions cut him to the core. She knew it was only a matter of time, wondered when Barry would allow himself to give in to that overwhelming need to just let loose with his grief. She had thought maybe he would alongside her own but after a few days of watching him bite the inside of his cheek or offer to do anything other than slow down, that he was trying to hold himself together. And then she was able to pull herself off the couch, was able to go back to work, was able to have the grief be a part of her day rather than consume her day, and she watched Barry continue at high speed. 

Until now, nearly two months later. 

“They all died in my arms,” she heard the muffled voice from where the head still lay burrowed in his folded arms. 

Iris knew loss, even before losing Nora, she’d felt grief; her first real boyfriend, her mother, she’d said goodbye to Barry, unsure if he’d return, more time than she’d care to count. She didn’t know anyone who hadn’t been touched by grief. But no one had felt it more than Barry Allen, carried the weight of loss as personal failure instead of a tragedy. Maybe it was because he loved harder than anyone she’d ever known, gave more of himself than anyone had any right to, lost them in a way no one deserved. 

He’d traveled back in time, something so extraordinary, to save his mother from being murdered in front of her, and instead, he held her as she took her last breath. His father, after years of being separated by glass and iron bars, and just a few moments together after he was freed from jail, stabbed in front of him for no reason other than a sick vendetta, and Barry held him as he died. He’d been so hurt, so broken by the loss that he changed time itself to bring them back to him, lived with them for months, only to have to say goodbye all over again, to beg the man who ruined his childhood to do it all over again. 

That alone was enough to drive any person into constant despair, not to mention the times he’d seen Iris be threatened or watch her seemingly die, his friends and loved ones at constant risk because of the life they lead. And then he meets his daughter, a dagger of a future he wouldn’t get to have with her due to Crisis propelling him into creating memories with her while he could, only to have her disappear in their arms, once again at the hands of the man who had taken everything from him before. 

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” was all she could say, wrapping her arms around his shaking body as he cried. There were no words to make him feel better, no comfort she could provide other than her presence like she’d done a hundred times before. Just like the night her father brought him home and she’d sat with his head in her lap, stroking his hair as he cried himself to sleep on their couch. Like the countless times she’d sat with him after being bullied, beaten up. Like the times she’d put her head on his shoulder and held his hand during holidays, milestones without his parents, and on his twenty-third birthday when he realized he’d lived longer in the West household than he did the Allen’s.

Her heart ached for the loss of her daughter, the Nora they knew, the Nora they loved. But right now, her heart ached for her husband curled within himself, sobbing as she wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight as if she was the only thing holding him together. Her heart ached for the boy who had everything ripped away, who felt like the one always left behind, alone and scared, sad and broken.


	2. Chapter 2

"Yell the sadness loud  
Throw it up against the wall  
See what stays then go and put it on  
It keeps you wild"

_______________

Iris shifted the balance of the cup holder in her hand, adjusting the fast-food bag under her arm as she cleared the elevator landing on the Speed Lab floor. She noticed Barry hadn't been eating as much the other day at breakfast, and then at dinner he only had two helpings instead of the speedster’s usual three. So with a mission, she decided to surprise her husband with his favorites from Big Belly Burger, enough food to even slow down a speedster.

She could hear the intensity from the workout before she saw it as she made her way down the hall. She heard the soft grunts followed with the hard thuds of fists meeting leather, heavy breathing, and a slight squeak of the chain as the bag swung with each punch. Iris rounded the corner of the hall that led from the Speed Lab to the training room and leaned against the doorway. Barry was engrossed in his battle, feet standing his ground as he attacked the large swinging black punching bag. He was shirtless, sweatpants hung low on his hips, a fine sheen of sweat glistening off his skin, the light catching every ripple of muscle, droplets flinging from unkempt hair as he razor-focused on the enemy that wasn’t fighting back. 

Under regular circumstances, the sight would have been enough to make Iris salivate, to interrupt his workout to press him against the concrete wall and attack him herself, encourage him to zip them away to their bedroom or take him right there, or even store the image away for a private moment. Her husband was undeniably attractive, even before taking into consideration his large biceps and tight muscles. He would joke that the lightning gave him the abs, but she’d seen him put in the work over the years to strengthen his body. The lightning may have given him the jump start from the scrawny boy she grew up with but the athletic man in front of her now was all his own efforts. 

But watching him now, there was no lust rippling through her body, just sympathy. There was anger in his eyes, grief in his expression, and each punch was propelled by emotion. He wasn’t working out, he was working through. It was when she noticed the glowing blue cuff on one of his wrists where sympathy turned to concern. As she looked closer, she could see he wasn’t wearing gloves, saw the cracked, bleeding knuckles as he swung his fists repeatedly at the hanging bag. The cuff was dampening his speed, his healing. He wasn’t working through, he was punishing himself. 

“Barry,” she called out as she entered the room, placing the fast-food bags and drink holder onto the nearby table. Then, with slow deliberate steps, she approached the boxer but her husband didn’t acknowledge her presence. He grunted as he swung hard, focused and she heard the painful slap of skin against leather. She got closer, knowing she was in his peripheral view now before she called out his name again. 

He turned to her, panting, before reaching out to halt the swinging of the bag. “Hey,” he breathed, quickly trying to turn away from her but she moved to his side and reached for the right arm closest to her but she had already caught a glimpse of red.

“Lemme see,” she said, pulling his arms towards her, her husband towards her, as she inspected the bruised knuckles that bled from where the skin had split.

“I’m fine,” he said, quickly pulling them away. He turned away from her and reached for a nearby water bottle where he stood, breathing hard, and gulping down the water. She watched him as he moved and could see he was clearly in pain.

“You know gloves would be more effective,” she couldn’t stop herself from scolding. She wasn’t mad at him, just frustrated. She knew why he wasn’t, it was so he could feel the pain. Based on the sweat glistening across his body, the level of damage to his bare hands, he was ignoring how with each punch his nerves probably screamed at him that his body was hurting. But she knew Barry Allen. He didn’t care, he wanted the pain, he’d been hurting for a while now.

“It doesn’t matter,” Barry said, putting the bottle down and standing there, not looking in her direction. She walked towards him, the light click of her heels against the floor echoing in the silence of the large room. As she stood in front of him, she grabbed his wrists and pulled them towards her. She looked upon him with an expression a mixture of sadness, sympathy, and disappointment. He couldn’t meet her gaze for long, dropping his eyes.

“Iris,” Barry sighed, his hands twitching as she grazed her thumbs over the split knuckles. He’d been on the receiving end of plenty West lectures, both from the patriarch and his wife, all throughout his life. When he was being reckless, putting himself in unnecessary harm, when they tried to get through to him in moments like this. 

“You’re hurting,” she stated, voice soft.

“I’ll heal eventually,” he said, his voice broke. She watched as he tried to keep his composure, not sure if it was the anger that was threatening unleash or the grief. She’d seen this look before as the threads of his emotions started unraveling. He was close to breaking, rage like when he found out Nora was working with Thawne, or overwhelming despair like when they found him over his father’s dead body.

“I’m not talking about your hands,” she replied and he finally looked up at her. She pulled him over to sit on one of the benches, leaving him there with his battered hands in his lap as she moved to get the first aid kit from one of the shelves lining the wall. She returned to find him fiddling with the cuff on his wrist but not making any indication he was ready to take it off. 

Iris sat across from him and set to cleaning his split knuckles. Barry didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure if it was because he couldn’t speak without letting her know how vulnerable he felt, or if it was because he was mad at her for interrupting him. 

“Talk to me babe,” her eyes pleaded, her tone urgent even though the touch was gentle as she applied antiseptic cream. 

“He was my family, Iris,” Barry finally said as he hung his head, breathing deep as he let her bandage his hands. 

When he finally spoke her suspicions were confirmed. Tomorrow was Oliver’s funeral. It had just been a few days since they survived Crisis, where their worlds merged, where life had changed, where Barry hadn’t died in a change of fate, but where they lost their group's collective leader, the Green Arrow. 

“I know he was family-“

“No, he was my family.”

She looked at him, confused as he put emphasis on ‘my’, correcting her. His eyes met hers, earnest and sad, angry at the universe for taking someway away from him and angry at himself for not doing more to save them even when there was nothing more to be done.

“On the Waverider, after...I told you not him. Not after everything, everyone,” Barry said, voice hoarse but strong, emotions causing it to crack but different emotions fueling his words. “Do you remember when we were making the guestlist for our wedding? It was the happiest I’d ever been, knowing I was going to marry the love of my life. But there was something achingly empty about making that guest list, the groom's side and the bride's side. All the aunts and uncles, great aunts and great uncles, cousins, they’re all Wests. I grew up a West, Iris. I have no connection to my parents’ families, none of them showed up for my mom’s funeral, to court to support my dad, believing what everyone had said about him murdering her. None of them fought for custody of me.”

She listened to his words, hands gently holding his in hers. It was something she’d never thought about. They grew up together, spent their whole lives with the same people attending each of their birthdays, holidays, Christmas cards exchanged as people moved across the country, people that were all West’s. Barry grew up from the age of eleven with them, received just as many gifts at Christmas from Grandma Esther as Iris did, received the check for the amount that matched his age from Aunt Kris and Uncle Jerry like she did, forced to wear the ugly neon T-shirt for the posed photo at the West family reunion that they all were. She told him once that she’d always been Iris West-Allen, that she’d always been his. But in her eyes, he was always hers, always her best friend, partner, love of her life. He was also always her father’s son. 

“I wouldn’t trade my life growing up with you and Joe,” he squeezed her hands, dipping his head the way he did to make sure she knew he meant that he had said, “but to not have a connection to my life before, my family tree, to not have a single blood relative, it feels empty sometimes. And I know you have a connection with the whole gang too and I love that. But it’s different. Oliver, he became my brother. Kara, my sister. Sara, Ray, cousins, ya know? We fought alongside and for each other, we bled for each other. They’ve become the family that feels like they belong to me. And then he gave it up for Kara, for me.”

She could feel her heart break for him. The boy left behind by his first family who grew up with a family that welcomed him wholly, and then later created one all of his own with a ragtag group of misfit vigilantes; a young man surrounded by love, by people who would give everything they could, still felt alone. He still felt like that boy running home to find his father being taken away from him and his mother taken from him forever. She knew it wasn’t a lack of gratitude, that he was thankful for every blessing in his life. This was rooted deep, that trauma that tells you to prove your worth so they’ll let you stay, that feeling of attachment that tells you they mean more to you than you do to them, that they need you less than you need them. It was a quiet voice in the back of his head she knew he’d been dealing with practically his whole life and it was loving someone who suffered from bouts of depression that made her empathetic to the hurt he was feeling.

The tears didn’t come like they usually did. Instead, he was all heavy breathing and biting the inside of his cheek.

“Baby,” Iris said, unsure of what she was going to say but needing to say something.

“It was supposed to be me,” His voice broke, raw, quiet, meeting her eyes, rimmed red. “I was supposed to disappear, to die. He was supposed to live. It shouldn’t have been him, it should have been me.

“Barry we don’t know what his fate was supposed to be.”

“He died for me, Iris!” Barry raised his voice, pulling his now bandaged hands away as he stood from the stool, pacing. “I was there, I watched it happen both times. He was my brother! I should have protected him, it should have been me!"

He doubled over suddenly, arms wrapped around his abdomen as if in severe pain, struggling to breathe and Iris couldn’t help but go to him. She reached for him, cupped his face between her hands, and willed him to meet her gaze. 

“You don’t know what it feels like. He gave it all up for me, but I wasn’t worth it,” Barry shook his head braced in her hands, tears beginning to fall now. 

“I do know what it’s like,” she whispered, thumbing the tears that fell down his cheeks. He caught her eyes then with understanding but still clouded in anger and pain. “Every time you go out there, every time you give it all up to save us I die a little, knowing you’re doing it for us, for me.”

Before he could deflect, to tell her its not the same, she continued. “He loved you, Barry. You were worth it to him. You were worth taking under his wing, training, and mentoring you. He trusted you, believed in you not only as the Flash but as Barry Allen. You’d give it up for him, why is it so hard for you to believe that he wouldn’t hesitate to the same for you?”

His breathing hitched as he folded around her suddenly, lowering his head to her shoulder, arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. She held onto him as if he would try to run, despite the fact that she could feel the power dampening cuff pressing against the small of her back. A hand grounded him at the base of his neck, her other stroking the back of his bowed head. 

He shook in her arms, from sobs or anger she wasn’t sure. He was raw in a way she hadn’t seen since his father was murdered. There was a sadness about his mother’s loss, a similar sadness with their daughter, a grief that couldn’t be spoken because it made him feel achingly empty. But something about Henry, about Oliver, that made Barry feel a sort of rage in his grief, a helplessness that made him feel like he needed to do something about it, whatever that looked like. Whether it be punching until his knuckles bled, training till his legs gave out beneath him or shouting into a ravine till his anger echoed back at him, it never seemed enough to empty it like he hoped it would.

But if Barry would continue to let her hold him as he processed, to be there for him when he sought solace instead, then it at least gave Iris the hope that he believed he could be put back together again when he felt broken.


	3. Chapter 3

"I will love you anyway with all your demons in the way  
Nothing can keep us apart  
I walk through walls into your heart  
I don't mind"

_______________

Iris moved quietly down the hall, bare feet making soft noises as they padded against the hardwood floor, steps deliberate as she made her way through the loft. She adjusted the S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt that hung off her shoulder as she cleared the staircase and followed the stifled sounds. As she walked through the living space and realized it wasn’t soft sounds of crying but instead gasping breaths, she quickened her pace. She knew those breaths, hadn’t heard him gasp them in quite some time. When she rounded the corner and saw him hunched over the sink, clad only in boxers, gripping the edges of the marble with white knuckles, unable to catch his breath, she recognized the panic attack; something she grew up with them having before he devoloped coping methods but something she hadn’t seen him have since he revealed to her who Savitar was. 

She pushed whatever she had been feeling before aside as she ran to his side. She rested one hand at the small of his hunched back, the other reached for his closest hand clenched tightly to the porcelain, and pressed herself close to him. It was a tactic that always worked, grounded him, made him feel safe and comforted more than any words could, her presence the most healing thing. But instead, he gasped and pulled away from her.

“No! Please don’t touch me,” he gasped through ragged breaths, backing up till his body collided with the wall. He reached his arms back and sunk down to the floor, knees drawn to his chest. Iris stood there stunned, never once getting that reaction from Barry, the boy she’d know for over twenty years now. He'd always let her near him, never once pulling away. Their whole lives together had been tactile, even before they became a couple. Small touches of comfort, hand-holding because they were each other's rock, cuddled on the couch because they were as close as two people could ever be. And then their love blossomed and touch blossomed into their love language, small brushes of the cheek with soft knuckles, tiny scratches with manicured nails at the base of his neck, bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces as they lay beside each other. She fit perfectly into his arms and he folded perfectly around her. 

But he wouldn't let her reach him now, pulled away as if she was a stranger. Only two feet away but feeling like a mile. He gasped in and out, hands splayed across the cold tile on either side of him, head bowed and eyes clenched. She watched his hands shake but press against the cold tile; recognize what you feel. She watched as he tried to take long deliberate breaths; in for five seconds, hold for three, out for five. She watched as he went through all the techniques to calm himself, to self soothe rather than rely on the one person who’d always been able to pull him out.

The person he just got back after weeks of living with an imposter. 

It was maybe a week since she’d found her way out of the MirrorVerse, with the help of team Flash who worked relentlessly around the clock once they realized their companions were trapped. It took her a few days to re-assimilate, to readjust to a world that wasn’t fractured, backward, and that belonged to her instead of a reflection of it she couldn’t touch or hold.

It was a week and she was finally ready to be with her husband, touch him in the way she had longed to, connect him with because she craved connection. She was in just her panties, him his boxers, and as she moved to straddle his hips where he lay back on the bed, she saw a spark of panic in his eyes, and with a gust of air, he was gone from beneath her and she was alone in their bed. 

Here she was and he was suddenly gone. First, she was angry but pushed it down because she’d been fighting with anger for a while now. It would be easy to be mad, to be hurt, that it took them five weeks to realize she’d been replaced by an imposter. She did feel anger, hurt, the sadness of being trapped in another dimension, her family sensing there was something off but not knowing she wasn’t capable of such coldness, aloofness. But the mirror version of herself was just that, a reflection of her. It knew everything she knew, spoke and moved like her, had her memories, her inflections. And it was post-crisis, a time where they were all trying to navigate this new world they were living it after fear of trying to grapple with the stress and fear of having to sacrifice someone they loved. 

Which brought her to her husband. It would be so easy to resent him for not knowing it was her, for questioning it in the beginning but not going any further. But to understand why she wasn’t, you’d have to understand Barry. A boy who grew up with trauma, pain, and loss, a feeling of being a burden to the people that loved him. And Mirror Iris took those self-doubts, those feelings of being insufficient, of that guilt that ran through his heart more powerful than the lightning in his veins, and used it to manipulate him. She exploited his feelings, his fears of disappointing her, and used them against him. She accused him of wanting to keep her as a damsel, made him feel guilty for dismissing the woman she’d become, her growth and agency. It became his fault, his problems, his selfishness that was pushing her away. And for someone whose biggest fear was losing the people that meant so much to him, it wasn’t difficult to use his tendencies of anxiety and depression, his imposter syndrome or post-traumatic stress, and reinforce these ideas he already held against himself. And Mirror Iris knew this because she had Iris’ memories. The things Iris learned over years of growing up with and loving, of holding his hand and helping heal his heart, of not blaming the person she loved for his mental illnesses but being proud of his ability to work through and thrive, it was the stuff that helped her understand why he would believe he was wrong to question Mirror Iris. 

So Iris did feel anger, hurt, and resentment but not towards her husband. It was towards Eva, Carver, for what she was put through and for what her family was put through. She was tortured and trapped, and Barry was emotionally manipulated and abused. Yes, she was hurt, but she was so much like her father, so much like Barry, and she was angrier that the people she loved was hurt. 

And as she stared at her husband, the person in this whole universe she loved more than anyone could possibly comprehend, shaking like a leaf, anger wasn’t even a thought as sympathy rose. She had straddled him, just like the impersonator had, hovered over him but with love in her eyes, not the cruel nature of her copy.

“She's all you can think about, huh?” She had smirked at him, taunting him. "What do you think about me, Barry? All those days, weeks. It wasn't her. It was me. Enjoying meals together. Talking about our day. Sharing your bed."

“Shut up,” he had replied, turning his head in disgust. 

But looking at him now, knowing him as she did, Iris knew it wasn’t disgust with her copy, it was disgust with himself.

“I cheated on you,” his broken whisper now broke through her memory of the brutal attack Eva had made her watch from the other side of the mirror as he was tortured, physically and emotionally by someone who looked and sounded exactly like the love of his life.

“Barry, no,” she managed through a choked breath. Iris lowered herself to the floor in front of him, keeping herself at arm's length. It was enough distance to give him space but close enough she could reach out and touch him, something she longed to do but knew he wasn’t ready for. Her bare knees rest upon the cold tile beneath her, making a mental note that they needed a plush bathroom rug, watching as Barry shivered again, unsure if he was feeling the chill too or if it was a reaction to the panic he was feeling. 

“It wasn’t you, I should have known,” He shook his head, wrapping his arms around drawn knees. “I betrayed you. I slept with her...I should have known. Something felt wrong, but...god, Iris, I’m so sorry.”

Her gut tightened as she watched his face pale suddenly and he lunged for the toilet, retching violently. Iris couldn’t fight the urge to touch him anymore, rubbing his back as it heaved. He didn’t shy away from her touch as her hand traveled up and down his spine, as she reached for a towel to wipe his face as he hovered over the porcelain, his stomach contents empty. 

She eased him back against the wall, chest heaving as he tried to regain control of his breathing, the only thing he felt like he could control at the moment. She pushed his now slightly damp hair back that had fallen over his downcast eyes, unable to meet hers. She scootched on closer to where he sat, her bent knees just centimeters away from where he’d drawn his legs back up.

“I’m sorry, Iris,” he said finally, fiddling with his wedding band, still not meeting her gaze. 

“Barry, please don’t apologize,” she said, hesitating before her next words not because they were untrue, because she didn’t know how he would take to the truth. “You were a victim.”

“Don’t say that,” he dipped his head, clenching his eyes. “I’ve tried to forget what I’ve done but-“

“You’ve done nothing wrong, baby,” she nearly sobbed, reaching out a hand to place on his knee. How could he blame himself? He was gaslit, psychologically abused by being manipulated by someone he thought he loved, someone who made him question himself, his sanity, his perception of their relationship, leaving him confused, anxious, and unable to trust himself for weeks. Eva created this image of her that hurt the man she loved, raped him, and then taunted it over him as he lay there injured and in pain, scared for his wife. 

He fixed his gaze on the hand on his knee, her beautiful, delicate hand adorned in the engagement ring. She watched as he cautiously moved to rest his fingers over hers. She didn’t gasp when a spark of blue lightning ignited between them as his hand touched hers. She’d seen this before. When he was in the coma, she’d felt it, when he touched her had as the Flash, when she pulled him from the speed force, when his memory was lost and they’d kissed she’d felt it on her lips as his powers ignited. There was a spark between them, always had been. 

The shock when they touch, the palpable heat of attraction and chemistry of their emotional connection, the irrepressible tug, the curious magnetic pull that drew them together intensely and intimately. It was something they both were missing for weeks, Iris stuck in another world, Barry trapped with an imposter, both lost without the other and longing for that connection to the other. As they both felt it now, their eyes met, their hands intertwined, and they began to heal together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking this short journey with me. As someone who has struggled with depression their whole life, even though surrounded by people with nothing but love and support to give, sometimes you can't help it when the world around you tests the walls you've built to keep you safe. I wanted to explore that with Barry, watch Iris who loves him wholly and without judgment just be there for him for no other reason than because she wanted to. Love to all.


End file.
